


Books and arrows and confusion

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Arya and needle work, Arya likes books, Books, Confusion, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Suffering, little bit fluff, lonely Arya, rated for later chapters, tags will be added in further on going, very slow build, wounded Tywin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2676620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People find each other sometimes over strange ways.<br/>People sometimes do strange things.<br/>And fate sometimes take strange turns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A horrible author

**Author's Note:**

> English = not my mother tongue  
> Please report grammatical issues. :)  
> I will correct them as soon as I can.

The moon illuminated the roofs of Kings Landing and Blackwater Bay, leaving a mysterious glitter on the dark water.  
The soft breeze coming from the sea to her stone bench made the acacias and pines rustle and whisper as it brushed through her hair.  
Arya’s seventeenth name day had been a wonderful, hot summer day and the warmth stayed even after the sun disappeared behind the horizon.  
It was the fourth name day she passed here.  
…  
It is not easy to explain how she felt. Sometimes it was terribly hard.  
There were days, when she wanted to grab the dagger of a passing guard and just stab everyone in sight, evenings at the table, where she was truly tempted to use her meat knife to slice open Cersei´s throat.  
Arya has never been a shy or quiet one.  
She had nothing for intrigues or lies or the game of the uncomfortable rusty chair that they all called a throne.  
And there was so much hatred in her, for nearly each and everyone around.  
She wanted to make them pay.  
For her sister.  
Her Parents.  
And brothers.  
There were also days when she just wanted to double over and cry. Weep. Grieve.  
_Don´t show when you are hurt._  
That is and always was the first step to defeat.  
And defeat had never been an option.  
She had accepted to wear gowns, to make needle work and behave like a lady, just out of sheer necessity, because she had not been able to swim against the current any longer. On the inside, she sometimes felt incredible numb and lifeless. These feelings behaved like an elastic band: You could try to push them away from you, but they snapped back with much more force than you could endure. And then she felt guilty for every happy moment she passed in the company of these peoples.  
But there were also better days. Hardly, but they existed.  
Beside her on the bench laid the only gift that she had received.  
Not that they would treat her so badly, but it did not interest anyone that much when her birthday was and it was just right.  
She bought the gift herself.  
It was a small, tattered, stained leather-bound book with the catchy title "The honorable fist fight and the discharge of duels," written by Ser Robard Endrich.  
She had bought it on the market from an old man and her guard fortunaly did not say anything when she stopped at the bookstall.  
She did not know how she had found to reading.  
At some point, there had been a book.  
And then another one.  
And one more.  
Reading helped her. It prevented from thinking about certain things to long. She had begun to visit the library of the red keep regularly and had the librarian welcomed her initially very cautious, he smiled at her now.  
Mostly she then sat with her reading in one of the high windows or, like today, outside on the terraces between the rose bushes.  
The light of the moon was bright enough to recognize the letters still clear and sharp.  
She reread the last paragraph and realized not for the first time that Ser Robard Endrich probably never had been involved in a real fight.  
Somewhere in the middle of the book she was gone over to write notes to the edge of the papers with a charcoal pencil and correct Ser Endrichs words.  
" _The weapon of choice of every honest man, the sword, is superior to all other weapons by its natural elegance and the possibility of attack and defense tool in one. A good sword is worth more than twenty sticks. In which case the question remains, whether one can still speak of a weapon when speaking of a dead branch._ "  
She snorted. And wrote behind it: " _A good sword is never subject to twenty sticks._ "  
Arya thought for a moment before she noted at the bottom: " _What is a weapon?_ "  
She fought no longer.  
Needle was well hidden and locked away to bottom in her chest.  
Until she needed it.  
Suddenly she heard the sound of heavy boots coming closer.  
She looked around and tried to locate the owner, believed almost immediately to hear the clink of weapons and stare by a torch in the face of a guard, but nothing happened and she realized that the steps seemed to move over gravel and sand and came from beyond the terrace wall.  
The next moment a brown leather bag flew over the stone parapet and landed at her feet.  
Horrified, she looked down on it, unable to move.  
From beyond the wall now rang a few quick steps, as someone would take start and a thud when the someone jumped up on the wall.  
A hand appeared, clawing at the ornate stone balustrade, then the second.  
Finally, she reacted, stood quickly, but as quietly as possible, and hid behind the next rose bush.  
It was only when it was too late, she realized that she had forgotten the book and the pen on the bench and she had to suppress a curse.  
A head appeared above the parapet, a torso and then a whole man heaved himself onto the terrace, landed on his feet and looked around.  
She narrowed her eyes and tried to make out his face, but he stood against the light of the full moon, which made it difficult.  
He was tall and thin. Under the woolen shirt he wore stabbed his collarbone forth like a coat hanger. His leather trouser was only carelessly stuffed into his boots and a jacket hung over his arm.  
It was only when he turned his head looking, she could see his face.  
Her breath caught.  
She almost gave a surprised squeak.  
Tywin Lannister picked up his bag and sat down on the stone bench on which she had been sitting seconds before herself.  
She had to bite her fist to stay calm.  
She watched as he adjusted his clothes and put on the jacket.  
Arya was not really interested in knowing what the head of the Lannister family did here at such an hour, she just hoped he would not notice the still opened book on the bench.  
The lord stopped in his movements.  
His eyes fell on Ser Endrichs designs and Arya wanted to hit her head against something hard.  
The Lord read the page and then looked searchingly around.  
His face was expressionless as his gaze slid over the rose bushes and the girl ducked when possible, even further and tried to keep her breathing quiet.  
Through the leaves of her hiding place she saw Tywin taking the charcoal pencil and writing something into the book.  
Then the Lannister stood up, grabbed his bag and walked away.  
First she did not dare to come forth, but then turned back to the bank and approached the book, as it could easily go up in flames any moment.  
She slowly bent over it.  
She recognized her own handwriting; messy and unreadable. And yet another: small, tidy and efficient. Like made for writing official letters.  
" _What is a weapon?_ " She had written.  
" _Everything._ " Stood among that. Nothing more.  
When she moved to the next page, she saw a another few lines of small font.  
„ _I suggest to read only the chapter about Tournaments of this book because it is the only useful. Furthermore, if one is interested in this subject one should read Lord Brean, since he has actually won a few battles._ "  
She stared at the page.  
Then at the darkness that had swallowed Lord Tywin.  
And back at the book.


	2. A dame to kill for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a film title hidden in this chapter.  
> Find it!  
> \---  
> Please report failures to me.

„Are you sure about this move, my lady?”  
She sighed.  
“You are letting me no other choice! Your knight is in the way!”  
“What about the tower?”  
“Blocked by your dame, as you can see very well!”  
“Indeed.” He sounded cheerful.  
Than stood up from his chair in order to reach the farthest areas of the chessboard and moved his second knight to a panel only two away from her king.  
“Checkmate!”  
“Crap.”  
“Manners, my lady.” Tyrion Lannister sat down again and drunk a sip from his goblet, obviously very satisfied with the outcome of the game.  
Arya flicked her dame to the desk. “Is it even possible to win against you?” she asked a little annoyed.  
“Lord Baelish managed ones. But I was very drunk.”  
She rolled her eyes.  
“But you are becoming better, Lady Arya. You´ve almost beaten all of my figures and the blockade at the beginning was very difficult to break.”  
“Had it from a book.” She dropped her head on her forearms. “Just copied it.”  
“But successfully.”  
He smiled at her.  
“I am terribly sorry, my Lady, but it seems like it is almost noon. My dear father and the rest of the small council are surely awaiting me. As always I truly enjoyed our game.”  
He rose, no; he jumped from his chair and waddled to the door, where a servant already waited for him.  
In the doorframe the little man turned once again.  
His different colored eyes inspected her.  
She smiled and looked questioning back.  
“You seem to have found a place here, Lady Stark.”  
She didn´t know what was readable on her face.  
Sure he didn´t meant the library or her actual seat and a long silence was stretching between them.  
As when she was about to give a polite answer, he shook his head and headed out of the door.  
“I do not force you to say something which you will probably regret, Lady Arya.”, he said while walking.  
She looked after him and felt somewhat uneasy.

 

“You really have grown, Milady, haven’t you?”  
Her maid flattered around her, fixing the last lacings on Arya´s gown.  
A servant had told her that the Queen awaited her for dinner.  
“And what beautiful long hair you have.” the maid went on.  
Arya hasn`t had cut it since she was brought back to Kings landing by some knights loyal to the Lannister family.  
Now, nearly four years later it reached her tights when it was open but at the moment it hung as neatly plaited braid over her shoulder.  
She did not like the southern hair styles.  
They were to… complicate.  
“Now you are ready, Milady.” The maid stepped back.  
Arya looked at her reflection in the tall mirror in front of her.  
She truly had grown.  
Her body and face had stretched and had become more mature; her waist narrow and her hips wider.  
Her chest was not that flat anymore and maybe her shoulders were a little too wide, but it was obvious that she could no longer be counted as a girl.  
The times of “Arya horse face” were over.  
The fact made her kind of proud.  
 _You seem to have found a place here, Lady Stark._  
She almost jumped at the memory of Tyrion Lannister´s voice.  
There were no signs of grey or blue in her gown.  
It was red.  
And golden.  
When did she start to feel comfortable in these colors?  
“Take it off.”  
The maid made a surprised face.  
“But Milady…”  
“Just take it off. I will wear the blue one.”  
When did she start to care about needlework?  
When did she start to play chess with a Lannister?  
When did she allow herself to become a trophy of them?  
A younger Arya snorted in disgust at her older self.  
 _“You will not be so happy and proud of your breasts when they marry you off to some disgusting old fart.”_  
She flinched at the thought of this.  
“Oh, shut up”, she murmured. “They haven’t in four years.”  
 _“As if this would make any difference.”_  
The younger Arya showed her tongue.  
 _“And you think wearing a blue gown change something?”_  
“I show them to whom I belong.”  
 _“Don´t make me laugh. You´re not a Stark. And you are certainly not me.”_  
The young Arya disappeared.  
“Ready, Milady.”  
Arya looked up.  
“It´s okay, I think.”  
“The men will love it, Milady!”  
This ingenuous compliment almost made her cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> And again sorry for issues.  
> I´m still struggling with my english.


	3. Unpleasent news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (: got nothing to say.  
> Oh, math was a B- in the end.  
> Yay!

_"The dear reader will agree with me, that Tournaments and duels are an essential part of today's society and they still will be in fifty years._ _But these have very little to do with the crowd, the shouting and the fear that one experiences on the real battlefield, in war._  
_Inquisitive and those who think they have to act honorable are sorted out very quickly here._  
_However, even capable fighter, good tacticians with strong sword arms, who do not hold shields for something dishonorable, may fall to the same fate._  
_They can also be taken down from straying arrows, slip in the mud or stumble. Trying to predict, who survives, is practically impossible._  
_That's why just the most incompetent generals are trying to defeat their opponents simply by superior numbers._  
_The next chapter will mostly be about the usage of shields for blockades and how one can be able to break the enemy’s sword just with the curve of said item._  
_A technic which saved my own life more than one time."_

Arya jumped at the sound of a knock on her door and quickly hid Lord Brean´s book under one of her pillows.  
It was late at night, as a matter of fact nearly morning again and she wondered who might disturb her at this hour.  
The girl quickly pulled a dressing gown over her night dress and sneaked bare-feet toward the door.  
She opened it creaking and eyed through the small slit into the hallway.  
Nothing.  
“Hello?” she asked, feeling incredibly stupid.  
“Down here, My Lady.”  
The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. She squeaked and took a step back.  
Tyrion Lannister, because it was him, watched her reaction with an arched eyebrow.  
“Boo.” he said.  
“Lord Tyrion! What are you doing here?” Arya looked the passage up and down. “What if a guard spots you here at this hour?”  
Tyrion snorted. “I´ve got bigger problems.”  
She noticed the wine in his breath, even from the distance.  
The man was completely drunk.  
“But why you knocked at my door?”  
“Because you, my Lady, got also bigger problems than an odd glance from a guard or gossip in the kitchen.”  
She suddenly felt cold.  
“What do you mean?”  
“It is happening.” His expression was a mixture of sadness, compassion and anger. “I really tried, Lady Arya. You must believe me, I…I really tried to make them change their mind.”  
“Who? About What?”  
“I liked your sister, my Lady. Yes, I know, this sounds hilarious out of the mouth of a Lannister…”  
“Lord Tyrion!” She grabbed him by his shoulders. “What is going on?”  
Silence.  
He avoided her look. “I am in the delightful situation to tell Lady Stark, that she is about to get married.”  
She let go of his shoulders abruptly and leaned against the door frame of her chamber to keep herself upright, but her legs collapsed under her.  
She landed with a thud on the floor.  
“Lady Stark must be very happy about the news.”  
It was the first time she was at the same height with him.  
“Who?” Her voice was merely a whisper.  
Tommen?  
The little man in front of her?  
Loras?  
“Ramsay Bolton. My Lady is part of a contract between Roose Bolton, the King and the Lord Hand.”  
Her heart clenched in her chest.  
Tyrion bowed. “It was a pleasure to be the first one to tell her Lady about her engagement.”  
He left.  
She heard his footsteps fade away.

 

She fled in the hours before dawn with a small package over her shoulder.

She stole the fastest horse from the royal stable and rode through the gates of the town towards the north.

They caught her before the next dawn and dragged her back to Kings Landing.

All of that was ordered by the King´s Hand, Tywin Lannister.


	4. History and Herstory

Surprisingly, she was not dragged to the dungeons, as soon as they arrived back in the red keep.  
She had spent the return trip tied up and lying on her stomach across a horse back.  
Every part of her body protested each movement.  
Her throat was sore from cursing.  
And she had the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.  
Arya had bitten the first guard who wanted to grab her in the hand and after that hit the man with the flat of her hand against his larynx.  
The man had beaten back as soon as he was able to breathe again and she was pretty sure she had a bruise on the cheekbone from his punch.  
He now walked beside her and had grabbed her arm.  
The one the other hand wasn´t able to close his left eye anymore. The lid hung down strangely limp and watered continuously.  
Arya had her knuckles rammed into it.  
The one behind her felt often back and limped heavily.  
It was the outcome of a hearty kick in the shins connected with the broken part of a chair in the hollow at the back of the knee.  
Arya looked straight ahead, as the strange procession, of which she was the center passed the corridors of the castle.  
Residents and employees stopped, looked at her and whispered to each other.  
The looks she got were curious, disapprovingly, but some also gleefully.  
She lifted her head a little higher.  
Their path led to the western part of the castle, until they arrived at a double door in dark wood.  
She recognized it.  
Her father had been working here for a very short time.  
It was the study of the hand of the king.  
She straightened inwardly and braced herself for the worst.  
She would neither cry nor beg for mercy.  
She was a Stark.  
Fortunately younger Arya made no comment about her pathetic thoughts.  
It would have been really the last thing she needed.  
The man opened the door and pushed Arya pass before he followed her and stood beside her.  
The room was not very big; it had a fireplace with a red-and-gold rotor and a chair in front of it.  
The only window looked out on the sea side of the fortress.  
Otherwise, it still contained a couple of bookshelves, a wardrobe and a massive desk.  
She had only been one time in here and then another man had been sitting behind the desk.  
The current hand of the king gave no heed to the newcomers but continued to write something in his tight, neat handwriting on a parchment.  
Minutes passed.  
Arya's cheekbones began to ache when she moved her face.  
Finally, Tywin Lannister sighed and laid his pen aside.  
It was not a resigned sigh, rather a little louder exhalation, with which one accompanies a new task.  
“I hope, Lady Stark…” he begun, his voice low and calm “…we have a mutual coincidence in matter of well-being of a certain person.”  
“Which would be?” Her voice sounded high-pitched and shaken to her own ears.  
“You, Lady Stark.”  
His next sentence was directed towards the knight besides her.  
“Ser Lobaan. I believe I told you to leave her unharmed.” It was not a question.  
“She resisted, My Lord.”  
“Were you outnumbered, Ser? Or stumbling into an ambush?”  
Ser Lobaan hesitated, realizing how thin the ice was, he was moving on.  
“No…No, My Lord. It…It was an accident!”  
Tywin rose in one swift movement from his chair and went around the desk.  
He stopped in front of Arya and grabbed her chin, turned it to see the injury in a better light.  
She was shocked of the sudden contact at first moment, stopped his arm with her hands and took a step back.  
Tywin seemed not to mind and waved at her face instead while speaking.  
“She will have this for several weeks, Ser. Accident or not, she must be presented to her fiancée.” He moved back to his desk and leaned against it. “You may leave now, Ser. I will send after you, when I have decided about the consequences of your actions. Until then it is forbidden for you to leave your quarters.” Ser Lobaan nodded. His face had gone deathly pale.  
He bowed and left, leaving Arya and the Lord alone in the study.  
Silence came over the room as the door closed. The logs crackled in the fireplace and somewhere near one could hear the wind howling around the walls of the Keep.  
“You will have him executed.”  
“Yes, Lady Stark. He disregarded my orders.”  
Another silence settled in the conversation.  
And build a house.  
And took a wife.  
Had many children.  
Died.  
Lord Tywin began to arrange the papers on his desk new.  
“It seems, my Lady, that you are not very happy with your engagement.”  
Out of the mouth of every other man or woman this would have sound ridiculous.  
Like a joke.  
Luckily he did not expect her to answer.  
“Anyway. I will not justify my reasons for this connection. All I would like to say, Lady Stark, is that I will show no more mercy, if you run again.”  
He fixed her with a look that had subordinates begin to beg for forgiveness.  
She fixed him in turn with a look that made the milk sour.  
“No My Lord, you would show mercy.”  
He arched an eyebrow.  
“Say, only hypothetical, My Lord…” She began.  
It was a balancing act.  
Over a crocodile pit.  
And someone was throwing stones at her.  
But she went on.  
“Say, I would run again. You would not harm me.  
Because I am the only Stark in your reach, the remaining key to the north. My sister was the first, but she is dead. I am the last.”  
He watched her, expressionless as always.  
She looked back.  
Green in grey.  
“There are more than one way to lead people on the right way.” He finally said.  
“And your means of extortion will be what, my Lord? My family?”  
“I believe the population of the north will do.”  
They were sneaking around each other like animals and Arya knew far too well, that she was in disadvantage.  
But she finally felt like she was taking things in her own hands and therefor wasn´t able to stop.  
“Say, the population of the north means nothing to me, my Lord.”  
“I would not believe you, my Lady.”  
“Why?”  
He tilted his head.  
A movement full of unspoken doubts.  
She understood.  
“I am not my father, my Lord.” Her voice sounded cold and that was good.  
At least, that was something that four years at court had taught her.  
But she believed to hear all her ancestors turning in their graves under Winterfell.

Lord Tywin Lannister said nothing.  
Then he chuckled.  
It was a deep noise, produced in the back of his throat and so uncommon to Arya that it took her a moment to recognize it as that what it was.  
The Lannister was laughing.  
Then he stepped in and remained there, towering over her.  
It was a real struggle for Arya to stand her ground and not just run away.  
The presence of the man was overwhelming.  
When he spoke, his voice was merely a whisper but rough and dark of bad premonitions.  
It sent shivers down her spine.  
“You have simply no idea what you are talking about, my Lady.”


	5. A fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two things from the title make finally their appearance. As a hint: Nobody is throwing a book at someone. :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please report issues. :)  
> You´ll help me a lot.

The day her fiancée arrived in Kings Landing was bright and sunny.  
A strong wind from the north had blown the ship he was coming with faster to the south than any horse on the Kings Road would have been able to ride.  
What was there in the Keep on Lords, Ladies and knights awaited the arrival of the ship at the Landing Stages.  
Arya stood beside the royal family on the hastily assembled platform and watched the ship as it docked before them.  
She let her gaze slide over the colorful crowd in front of her as far as she was able to.  
Which was not much, thanks to the gown she was forced to wear. It was a a monster made of silk with long sleeves, corset, crinoline and a high-necked collar.  
...Who the hell invited dresses with high-necked collar?  
Whoever, he could be proud of himself to have developed a torture tool equal to the iron maiden.  
Just slower and with fewer spines.  
But not less painful.  
She could barely move and was afraid that the seams will rip apart as soon as she lifted her arms or breathed in too deep. Also the red silk was already damp and stuck to her skin in the heat and the corset pressed the few air that was left in her lungs out of her body.  
Arya shifted uncomfortable.  
She recognized Petyr Baelish´s grey-brown hair and the bald head of the spider not far from her. Tyrion was nowhere to be seen.  
Except him, all members of the small council were present.  
Those responsible for her misery.  
She did not know how to feel about the absence of the little man.  
Since he had warned her, or better, told her about her engagement, Arya hadn´t seen him again and she wondered whether his father knew about it and not only punished the guard for disregarding his orders.  
If she turned herself slightly, she could see him.  
The Lord wore shiny parade armor in red and gold with roaring lion heads on the shoulder parts and a richly decorated broadsword at his side.  
His beard was freshly trimmed and his hair combed back.  
He stood out, even between the king and his sworn knights; a image of his sucess.  
She felt resignation. In the end he had got his way. From what she knew, he always got.  
She remembered the hopeful glance of the swollen eyes, the merely teethless smile and the hoarse voice: "Lady Arya!"  
The man had been a knight of her father, a low Lord, but proud, like they all were.  
Even in his present conditions he had tried to remain his composure.  
He was tall, even when he kneeled, with grey hair and sharp features and in a strange way he resembeld the other man towering over him and looking at Arya.  
"Lord Ryan hasn´t payd his taxes in five months due to a poor harvest. He refused the offer of Bolton to pay the missing naturalies in silver coins..." Tywin said. They were alone in this part of the dungeons, even the guards had been ordered by Lord Tywin to remain outside and to let nobody in.  
Water ran down the walls.  
It was cold.  
Arya felt dizzy.  
Here, deep under the fortress, far away from the light of day, Tywin Lannister had decided to confront her with the whole extent of her lie.  
_So? The people of the north mean nothing to you?_  
How about a close friend of your family?  
A brave knight and good man?  
An innocent?  
There was nothing particulary cruel or evil in this silent questions, just the intention to prove her wrong, to make her accept who had the advantage.  
"For...Forgive me, my Lady." Lord Ryan bowed. "Roose stripped the north of every kapital as a reparation for the war."  
She looked at the two man; The one kneeling and beaten, covered in dirt, the other with the only torch in his hand, sword in the other and waiting for her reaction.  
She knew in this moment, that she had lost.  
Younger Arya winced in her chest.  
_I want a broad sword too…!_ , the girl said.  
_Oh, shut up!_ , present Arya thought. _We´ve got clearly other problems right now!_  
_…To cut off all their heads!_ , younger Arya added.  
Her older self giggled hysterically and earned a few odd glances.  
_That´s right._ , she thought. _Give me a weapon and I´ll end this here._  
But she did nothing.  
She killed them all just in her head.  
Right next to the footbridges was a tall watchtower behind which the sun was about to disappear as the ship finally had completed the process of mooring. She knew that she should rather watch her fiancée come from board, but she did not.  
She blinked against the strong light and wrinkled her nose.  
Something sparkling on the top of the tower had gained her attention.  
It has been see able for only the blink of an eye but she was sure to have recognized it right.  
The metallic barrel of a crossbow.  
It had reflected the sunlight.  
She heard the crowd cheer as the passengers of the ship stepped on solid ground but that faded into background as a shape, black against the bright sunlight, rose from the roof of the tower and aimed with the loaded crossbow.  
At somebody to her right.  
She moved, to her own surprise.  
Faster than she imagined to be able to in the heavy dress.  
She was not thinking about who was trying to kill who and out of which reason, she just wanted…  
Yeah, what exactly wanted she…?  
She reached the person the weapon was aiming at just in the moment the man on the rooftop was pulling the trigger.  
She pushed the person forcefully back.  
The arrow cut her cheek and, because they were already stumbling backward, missed the chest of the person and pierced with a thud in his shoulder instead.  
The next moment Arya realized two things:  
1\. The footbridge had no railing and behind the red curtain of the platform was nothing but air.  
2\. The person on whose chest her hand was resting and who was looking at her with wide eyes was Tywin Lannister.  
People were screaming at the top of the ridge, men shouted commands.  
It was a surprisingly long way to the water.  
Three to four meters or more.  
Arya clutched, without meaning to, the man who fell with her tighter and held onto his armor.  
All the noises disappeared, leaving just heavy green silence as they crushed through the troubled surface of the Blackwater Bay.  



	6. Under water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally.  
> I´m sorry for not updating so long.  
> As always: issues are to report  
> and I´m doin´a dance over every comment. (;  
> Thank you!

The cold of the water was a shock.  
First, she dared not to open her eyes, just felt the enormous pressure of the water masses against her skin.  
Many small bubbles from the impact rose around them, swept past her cheeks while Arya, pulled down by her heavy dress, increasingly sank into the dark green depths.  
And with her, the Lannister.  
Red trails were floating around them through the water, starting from the wound in his shoulder. The man himself had lost consciousness due to blood loss and the impact.  
His head was rolled back, his arms were exaggerated and drifting limp to the left and right of them through the water and one last big bubble escaped his half-open mouth.  
Arya began to struggle, trying to bring them both closer to the surface again, but had to admit that her soaked dress was much too heavy.  
It crackled in her ears as they continued unabated to sink deeper.  
Right.  
And of course the heavy armor of the Lord.  
Just as well she could have hold on to a stone that had as much of buoyancy.  
Had a painter observed the scene, he would have been carried away; the mysterious green sea penetrated by sun rays which were reflected on the golden armor of a wounded warrior who slowly slipped away into the darkness. Above him, a pale mermaid dressed in ruby red velvet and brocade, drifting like a veil around her.  
Arya had no time for such images.  
Especially not now.  
Spontaneously, and because her breathing also became gradually short, she took the dagger from the still unconscious Tywin and cut the laces on her bodice.  
The knife was sharp and glided through the fabric as through butter.  
She kicked around and eventually slipped out from the numerous skirts and underdresses.  
She had to let him go.  
The Lord had, while she had struggled with her dress fallen further and slowly disappeared in the darkness of the lake.  
She hesitated.  
Her lungs were burning and she felt when she would remain here any longer, she would have to inhale water.  
The decision was made.  
With a few quick swimming moves she broke the surface and sucked greedily the salty sea air in.  
The cries of the seagulls, the sound of the waves and...  
And the bellowed commands.  
The panicked calls.  
And: "There she is!"  
"Do not let her escape! She has murdered the hand!"  
The absurdity in this words almost made her laugh.  
The next moment, however, Arya realized that if she did not actually saved the Lord...  
She was probably as good as dead.  
It must have looked for everyone as if the crazy wolf girl pushed the Lannister into the water out of pure vindictiveness.  
And had lost her balance.  
Or so.  
Maybe it has not mattered for her if she fell into the water also, who knew?  
People were surprisingly good at looking at something until they saw their own personal version of the truth.  
When she was pulled from the water without a living Tywin Lannister, her fate was sealed.  
She looked up at the clear blue sky, but it had no pity on her, took one last deep breath and dived again.  
She took the knife between her teeth and swam with powerful features straight down.  
In Winterfell near the castle had been a small pond, from which it was said that at his bottom would be a treasure.  
As a young child she had dipped with her brothers together afterwards, all the way down into this strange, cold world.  
And if all had exhausted lain on the banks, she had not given up, had further sought between the peculiar plants at the bottom of the lake until her lips were blue and her hands and feet were numb.  
As deep as now, however, she had never been.  
The pressure on the ears went from unpleasant to painful and the water was getting dark around her.  
Then she saw him.  
He drifted a half meters above the ground between the deep green plants.  
His skin and lips were pale as those of a corpse.  
Arya just hoped it was not too late.  
She took out the knife from between her teeth and began to cut the Lord from his armor.  
She cut his belt and the ornate sword disappeared among the algae.  
The leather straps at the neck and throat protector were also no challenge.  
The problem was the arrow in the shoulder, which had stapled the shoulder plate and the underlying chain mail almost to the flesh.  
And the shoulder plate was fastened with rivets on the breastplate.  
With the dagger she would not come any further here.  
Arya closed her eyes for a brief moment.  
Then she grabbed the bolt and pulled it forcefully out of the man's shoulder.  
The water around them turned red again.  
She turned back the breastplate and pulled Tywin from the remains of his armor.  
Then she pushed off the ground, her arms wrapped around the Lord and pulling him along.  
Her lungs were again briefly before bursting and the extra weight disabled her enormous, but she continued to fight.  
She kicked and cursed.  
Black dots started to dance in front of her eyes and just before she even lost consciousness, her head broke through the water surface.  
She gasped and spluttered and paddled over to one of the pillars of the bridge, the unconscious Tywin still trailing behind.  
Arya threw one of her arms around the thick, with shells overgrown bar and let her head fall against it.  
She was at the end of her strength.  
Brining the man back to the surface had pushed her beyond her limits.  
When she squinted into the sun up, a few surprised and perplexed faces looked down at her.  
For a few seconds no one moved.  
She took a breath.  
"HELP!" Her voice was hoarse. "HELP, DAMN, HELP ME! AREN´T YOU SEEING THAT HE IS INJURED ?? "  
That brought movement in the men.  
A rope with a leather loop at the end was lowered.  
She tied Tywin and watched as he was pulled up.  
Something inside her loosened.  
Powerless she slumped back against the pillar, eyes closed.  
The waves washed over her.  
She did not know how long she hung there.  
Did they forget about her?  
"Milady! The rope! "  
A young guard looked expectantly down at her.  
She grabbed it and heaved herself into the loop.  
She felt as she was lifted out of the water.  
The rope twisted in the air, swung gently back and forth and she clung with numb fingers on the rough hemp until she was raised by two pairs of hands to her feet on the bridge.  
She looked around.  
To her left was Maester Pycelle busy reviving the unconscious Tywin.  
Most of the present gathered around the prone body and the old man. Just a little off, Roose Bolton and his son were standing.  
Roose studied the scene as he looked at everything; as a detached observer, unmoved, his eyes cold as those of a fish.  
Ramsay looked directly at her, inquiring and curious about something.  
His gaze slid over her body and she was aware that her thin underdress left absolutely nothing to the imagination.  
It clung to her like a second skin and the cold wind made her body react in a way that she really could not use right now.  
Despite her exhaustion Arya blushed heavily and tried to cover her breasts.  
Suddenly a tall woman broke away from the crowd and went in Arya's direction , her eyes flashing with anger.  
Cersei.  
"You!" She almost screamed. "I always knew what you actually planned, you ..."  
She stopped in front Arya. The girl wondered how long it would take until she would finally pass out.  
"All these years we have tolerated you at our table, dressed you up and fed you. And how do you thank us? You tried to kill my father! "Arya had the odd feeling that Cersei's nose grew longer and her voice came from further and further away.  
"But I always knew: Nordic blood is weak and cold! You can probably not help but bite the hand that feeds you! "  
Cersei talked herself into a rage.  
Arya noticed no longer.  
She slapped senseless on the wooden planks of the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Happy Valentine everbody!  
> I´ve got a date with two seasons of"Ripper Street" and "Gotham".  
> Ha Ha.


	7. How to shock a Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m sincerely sorry for not updating so long and with such a cliff hanger at the end. I know far to good what it feels like to be hoping for a new chapter, checking after a few days and being disappointed. It´s just frustrating. I don´t know what Steven Moffat finds so thrilling about doing so, but, on the other hand, Moffat is the devil, so my apologies to all who waited. I didn´t do that on purpose. As a reward: A little fluff and comforting, but also hurt and... first kiss! :D As always: report issues and I´m happy about comments.

The first time she woke up, it was late evening and she sat with a faint gasp up from a confused dream, feeling like she was drowning.  
She felt cold. Nevertheless, her nightgown stuck firmly to the back.  
She felt a bandage on her cheekbones, but flinched when she touched it and a sharp pain shot down her spine.  
Her face felt swollen.  
She panicked, wanted to call out to her mother, but was almost immediately pushed back into the pillows. Someone coerced her to open her mouth and filled her with a sweet-smelling, thick liquid.  
She was forced to swallow.  
A few minutes later she dawned away.

The second time it was noon and bright sunshine fell just past her face on her pillow. Dust flakes danced in the column of light. The pictures of the nightmare that had haunted her moments ago faded just slowly.  
She felt incredibly hot, but her skin and her mouth was dry.  
She moaned.  
Her face ached.  
An outline near her bed immediately began to move and reached for something beside her head.  
It rattled and a strong grip closed around her cheeks, opened her mouth forcefully and shoved a spoon inside.  
Again the juice trickled down her throat and soon she was sleepy.  
_"Poppy seed extract are added only by serious illness.“_ She thought yet, but could not finish, because her consciousness faded.

The third time it was night and Arya was alone.  
Her lids seemed like glued together and felt strangely heavy, but unlike the previous times her vision was clear.  
A grip on her cheek told her that the bandage was gone. Instead of it, she stroked a hard bead on her skin.  
Arya looked around, searching for a mirror, but realized that it was not her own apartments she was in but the south wing of the fortress in one of the sickrooms.  
The last time she was here, she ... Well, at least it was a long time ago.  
A single oil lamp lit up the circular room with the roughly hewn walls.  
To her left there were a curtain that divided the room into two halves and a small table with a clay bottle on it.  
She sat carefully up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.  
Almost immediately she was terribly sick and dizzy and had to hold up herself on the bedpost.  
There she remained with her eyes closed and waited.  
The vertigo lay down gradually, the nausea not, but she gritted her teeth, determined to learn more about her situation and the past few days.  
And to find a mirror.  
She pulled the red coverlet of her bed, swapped around her shoulders and walked slowly to the door.  
Then she heard a groan.  
She froze and turned, her hand already on the latch, back around.  
And saw him.  
He laid in the bed on the other side of the curtain, lit by the dim light of the oil lamp.  
A linen cloth was spread out on his forehead and his shoulder was thick covered in bandages.  
The related arm was in a sling on his chest.  
The other arm was tied with leather straps to the bed frame, the same with his legs, presumably to avoid that he turned in his sleep.  
... Or lashed around.  
Tywin groaned again.  
Arya broke away from her rigidity and walked slowly toward the man's bed.  
She looked at his closed eyes, the tense jaw and a well-known voice became hearable in her head.  
_"Why?"_ young Arya asked, arms folded and head tilted.  
Her older self shook her head. "I have no idea."  
_"Honestly, Why? He was as good as dead! You'd just had to stood there and do nothing! "_  
"I know."  
_"We had vowed to take revenge! And then you save him? "_  
The old Arya kept silent. “There are too many people dying." she said.  
The other girl opened her mouth, but could not say anything more.  
Tywin had opened his eyes.  
His feverish look turned to Arya.  
"My Lady?" His voice was hoarse and rusty.  
She stood still; Frozen like a deer under a spotlight.  
"My Lady?"  
"Yes?" She finally replied, bowing slightly, trying to think of a way how to explain herself.  
"Where ... Where am I? And why am I tied up? "  
"In the hospital wing of the red fortress, my Lord. The ... The shackles are for preventing to hurt yourself by turning in your sleep, I think. "  
"So?" He frowned, seemed to consider that, then something more important apparently pushed in his memory. "Are you well, my lady?" he asked, concern in his voice.  
She opened her mouth surprised and managed to bring forth, "Yes, it ... I'm fine, thank you. I have recovered as far as ... "  
"Are you sure? You have lost a lot of blood ... "He heaved himself up with a groan.  
Arya was more confused. What was wrong with the man? However, the reflex to be polite and careful in front of him triumphed over her questions. "N ... No, no, it was, my lord, you ... You have been hit by the bolt ..."  
Tywin's mouth pulled himself up to a half-hearted smile.  
"A birth is not something you should take lightly, Joanna." He said in a low voice.  
Her blood froze in her veins.  
Her answer was stuck in her throat.  
She had no words to express her suprise and horror.  
"Now tell me already? How's the small Tyrion," said the Lord.  
Silence. She looked at him, looked into the deep green eyes with the blue-black rings under them, saw the feverish film over his iris.  
"Good." she brought out.  
...  
... _What_ was she saying?  
"A healthy little boy."  
What was she _doing_ here?  
"With very strong lungs, my Lord."  
Tywin chuckled, though one could see that it caused him pain. "Oh, Joanna, you do not know what pleases me to hear that ... I was struck by an arrow, you said?"  
She nodded.  
He did not recognize her. Presumably he was not really awake. "Yes, an assassin. The man is still being sought. "  
The Lord nodded, apparently uncertain about what he wanted to say next. “I ... I had an absolutely horrible nightmare, my dear." He shook his head. "Now it seems ridiculous to me."  
"What ... What, my lord?" she asked. He gave her a quick glance, a glint in his eyes.  
"Nothing I want to burden you with, my Lady."  
Something in Arya's chest clenched in a painful manner.  
Without being able to prevent it she realized that she felt sorry for the man.  
She bowed again. "I'll go now, my lord ...Tyrion…Tyrion is certainly tired."  
The lie, no, the whole situation left something bitter in her mouth.  
She turned to the door.  
"One more thing, my lady ..."  
She stopped. "Yes?"  
"Could you ... just for a moment, free my arm? The bandages have slipped a bit and I ... "He pulled on the short leather strap to make clear what he meant.  
"Surely, my Lord."  
Arya forced a smile, walked around the bed and began to work on the node.  
She pulled apart the ends and the leather strap fell back onto the mattress.  
She wanted to get up and step back, but suddenly Tywin grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. She tried to resist, but the man was surprisingly strong despite his condition.  
"My Lord, I ..." She squirmed trying to escape. "I did not want to ..."  
She felt.  
And ended up with her hands on the chest of the Lord, the heat of his body feel able trough the rough cloth of the bandages.  
Slowly she raised her eyes, fearful of what she would find.  
The last time that this man had been so close to her, he had told her that he would, if necessary, let the entire population of the North suffer, so she did what he wanted.  
Not this time.  
He leaned forward and kissed her lightly.  
His lips were dry and heated.  
She jumped terrified back before he could do something else. "My Lord, I ..."  
He tightened his grip and pulled her closer and her hands slid across the cloth higher until they lay on his bare skin, just below his collarbone.  
The man burned literally.  
"Oh, but you knew exactly my lady, what would happen if you untie me." His voice was right next to Arya's ear, warming her neck. "For three months I had to stay away from you, out of thoughtfulness for the child, but now ...?" Arya did not realize how, but while Tywin spoke, his hand had wandered slowly deeper and joined now firmly around her backside.  
She gave a surprised squeak.  
Tywin took the opportunity and kissed her again, gained acess to her mouth. She felt anger at being helpless and panic and, even if she would never had admit it, a strange kind of excitement, a warm feeling in her belly.  
Again she held still as he deepened the kiss and sucked on her lower lip.  
He broke it right away and she realized how she froze, with half-open mouth, gaze directed on him.  
She looked right at him and wondered if the heat in his eyes was still the fever or arousal.  
The Lord was silent again, watching her and she felt the panic coming back.  
What did she do here?  
What brought her to this point?  
She tried to free herself out of his grip but he was not letting go, pressing her to his way to hot skin. In her trouble, she reached out for the table beside the bed and grabbed the water jar.  
Water splashed over the sheet as she hit him with it, than she stumbled backward, adjusting her clothes.  
“My Lord!” she said with the last bit of dignity she had left and turned for the entrance, not waiting for him to recover.  
She opened the door, finding two guards looking surprised at her.  
“The Lord Lannister woke up.” she managed to say.  
The both men moved immediately and she watched as they hurried down the corridor.  
Again there were no words to describe her thoughts in this moment.  
There were no words for something like this at all.


	8. to sneak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. I´ve got vacances and plenty of time.  
> A "Hurray" to the school system in my land. :`D

The woman who sat on her bed before her had short brown hair and brown eyes.  
Her dress was simple and practical, and looked as if it would protect well against cold, she also beamed pragmatics and the ability to assert herself very well.  
About the white apron she wore dangled the heavy chain of a Maester.  
She had introduced herself as Tarhide and had begun to question Arya about her health after she had sent the guards away.  
"Does this hurt?"  
"No."  
A nod.  
The scratching of pen on parchment.  
The curtain which divided the room was completely drawn, but Arya could not deter herself from eyeing the outline, the oil lamp on the cloth threw at her bedside again and again.  
Hot blush crept into her cheeks, every time she thought of the last minutes.  
Whether something like this regularly happened when you were... married?  
She did not know. Just that it should not happen if one is _not_ married. The Lord had been unconscious when she had entered the room again about which she had been very relieved.  
It had been unintentionally, that was quite clear.  
If he did not had confused her with his wife, it would never have happened.  
She felt guilty, as if she somehow had taken advantage of the affection he clearly had once felt for the dead woman.  
Nevertheless, there remained a strangely warm tingling, where he had stroked over her skin, as the fever had seeped through and ...  
She shook her head.  
_Stop it! Nothing has happened! And never will again!_  
Nevertheless. Who would have thought that Tywin Lannister felt affection, even love for anything or anyone at some time?  
"He's on the mend, Lady Stark." said the woman called Tarhide. Apparently Arya looks had given her away. Tarhide poked her in the side. "And does this hurt?"  
"Ow!" Arya rubbed over the place. "Yes!"  
"Very good." said the female Maester. "I think the poison has almost disappeared from your body, Milady."  
"Poison?"  
"Yes, Poison. From the pale desert devil. The arrow was soaked with it. "  
She looked over to Tywin. "Naturally it has caught him stronger than you. If the arrow would have struck just a little closer to his heart, he'd be dead. The poison causes severe hallucinations, fever, and leads to an overload of the body." She looked back at Arya. "From what I heared, you've saved his life?"  
Arya ran her hand over the bulge in her face where the bolt had grazed it. She still had not found a mirror and it displeased her more than she wanted to admit.  
"Yes, that's probably true." she said.  
Tarhide smiled a little and grabbed her writing things together. "Then you can value yourself happy, Milady. From what one does hear, the Lannisters always pay back their debts. "  
She turned to go.  
"Maester Tarhide?"  
"Yes?"  
"What ... What is with Maester Pycelle? I havn´t seen him..."  
The Woman's smile strained a little. "They consulted me because I am an expert in the field of poisons. Maester Pycelle has left me his patients because he was taking no chances. If that were all, Milady? "  
"One ... One more thing: How long have I been here?"  
"Two full weeks, Lady Stark. This poison should not be underestimated." She left the room.  
Arya rubbed her neck with a sigh and fell back on the pillow.  
Two full weeks ...  
No wonder she felt so weak.  
She was getting tired again and eventually fell asleep.  
Just after what could have been minutes later she started up from a restless sleep.  
The moon was still shining through the small window on the opposite wall and the oil lamp had gone out, so it was almost completely dark.  
She rubbed her eyes sleepily, looked around and wondered what had woken her up.  
Then she discovered Tywin and flinched.  
He sat next to her bed on the chair, with back-pressed and tense neck muscles.  
A thin strip of light shone on his sweaty strained face and he looked directly at her.  
She held her breath, slid as much as possible to the head end of the bed and waited.  
He shifted.  
Moonlight fell into his eyes and the White flashed briefly, a thin strip of his green iris and then he had completely disappeared.  
Only a leaning forward, dark silhouette against the silver-gray of the heavy curtain.  
„Let´s pretend, my Lady. “ the silhouette said. His voice sounded sour and rasping but calm, like that of a man who learned and was willing to control his emotions but could erupt like a volcano any moment.  
“Let´s pretend the last hours did not happen."  
She was silent. A cold feeling had settled in her stomach.  
"Let´s pretend I am not Tywin Lannister and you are not Arya Stark. And this is not the hospital wing of the Red Keep." He paused. "I took part in actions that nearly erased your whole family from this earth. I am marrying you off.  
One could say: I destroyed your life." He paused again. His voice was calm as if he was just speaking about the weather. "Let me get this straight, Lady Stark. I don´t regret any of this. These things are simply facts and I will not explain my reasons for my decisions. I think they are plain."  
Arya nodded even though she wanted to laugh hysterically. Or weep. "Family, duty, honor." she recited the words of the House Tully, voice toneless. The cold knot at the bottom of her stomach got heavier.  
The Lord opened his mouth but kept silent. He clearly did not expected her to say something. He turned his head, looked for a few moments at a point somewhere on the wall. "Indeed." he eventually said.  
"But neither family, nor duty nor honor was a reason for you to safe me, Lady Stark."  
She must have made some kind of noise because his head snapped back in her direction. "Of course I know! I have the feeling that the fever will come back in a few hours but for now my memories are quiet clear."  
She saw a slight tremble in his hand as he stroked his greasy hair out of his face. "So my only question is: Why?"  
She remained silent.  
Suddenly he stood up and took a few steps in her direction. "I mean, it is a quiet simple one, don´t you think, girl?" His voice was deeper now, more of a growl.  
She grabbed the meat knife from the plate beside her bed. "Stop!"  
He ignored her, put his knee on the bed and leaned down to her, his healthy hand clasping at the head of the bed behind her. The mattress moved under his weight and she tried to hold the knife in place.  
It was shaking.  
Her hands were shaking.  
The cutting edge graced his throat.  
"Why?" His face was serious. Anger and confusion were well hidden behind a tense jaw and clenched teeth. It was just inches away from hers. A drop of blood ran over his adam´s apple.  
"What keeps you from using this goddamn piece of metal? What brought you to pretending to be my wife?" His eyes were completely dark. No light reached them.  
He leaned to her ear like the first time they had talked in the Tower of the Hand and she again felt his breath at her neck as he said: "Are you pitying me, girl? Is it that? Am I looking like a man in need of compassion?"  
Tywin drew back a little, still looking at her and yet his fury was clearly visible, but turned into a surprised frown as she moved with him, not taking the knife away from his skin.  
The tremble was not gone but Arya was now able to hold the cutlery with one hand. "I am afraid of you, my Lord. I am afraid of what actions you took and I am afraid  
of what you still could do despite I lost nearly everything. You have shown on many occasions how vulnerable I am." Tears made her vision blurry.  
"Because I am human. And how outrageous it might sound: You are one too. I pitied you because I know how it feels to lose your beloved ones, nothing else."  
She pressed her free hand to her eyes to stop the tears from running down her face. "I don´t know why I saved you. I really don´t know."  
She did not resist when he took the knife out of her hand and put it back on the table. The flashing anger from just moments ago was gone, but his face was also largely covered by the shadows so she could not really tell.  
She pulled her knees up to her chest to get as much space as possible between herself and the Lord. She wiped her face dry.  
"If you are not a Lannister in this moment and I´m not a Stark, you could say we are free from the bonds and liabilities of our position."  
Silence.  
He tilted his head slightly. His expression seemed to say "Humor me."  
"Are we also free to speak the truth?" she added. Her distress, the cold feeling in her stomach turned slowly into rage, an anything and everything burning heat and she felt,  
that she again was behind a point of no return. Either this man would kill her after this conversation or...  
"I expect you to always speak the truth, girl."  
"Good. I hate you. I saved you. What do I get for it?"  
Even in the dim light he looked very puzzled. It did not last long. "What do you think you get?" There was a trap in the question.  
However, she did not intend to spring it and went straight forward.  
"I demand the honor of the Stark family back. Is this outweighing your life, Sir?"  
His mouth opened, it closed. Eventually he said: "Do you think I value my own life that high, girl?"  
"I think Tywin Lannister is valuating his _family ___high enough and the chaos his sudden death would have caused."  
A pause settled itself between them. It was slowly getting brighter in the room.  
He chuckled. "You are a smart little girl."  
She breathed in. A weight lifted itself from her chest. What remained was Euphoria and the still burning anger.  
Tywin arched an eyebrow. "I believe this to be the closure of a new...alliance, Lady Stark. How do one seal something like this? Under this _circumstances ___? After we confessed to each other to only be human?" It was clearly meant as a joke.  
She moved forward.  
She kissed him.  
He jerked back, than, after a moment of hesitation, grabbed her shoulder and pulled her closer. His lips crushed on hers and her head began to spin.  
After what seemed like an eternity, he let go of her and smiled predatory. "I´m intrigued, Lady Stark. Really. Just don´t burn yourself while playing with the fire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. I´m so grateful for all the praise and nice comments I received. Apparently there are people (or just @avid reader, which would be enough for me btw) who are REALLY waiting for this to update. Like you do with favorite series. I might get hubris over that point... Okay, no, foremost I would like to say: THANK YOU!!!! I never thought this would get over 10 Kudos!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m back. Where r my bitches?  
> More talking (for the sake of character development) than action this time.  
> I PROMISE by the grave of my canary, I will update during the next four weeks, if not sooner.  
> \----  
> And thank you so much for reading & waiting! I know it sure took me long this time. But I have not nor will I abandon this story!!

_... Unfortunately footwork in swordsmanship is not given the necessary importance by many teachers, which is fatal._  
An Example:  
Sure, heavy blows can be quite successfully blocked, but one should think of the possibility that the enemy could swing an ax or mace.  
More, will be added superior force, is a rapid step backward not only simpler and power saving but probably also lifesaving.  
A shield or a seemingly strong parade promises only false security... 

Arya closed the book with a bang and let it drop beside her.  
She looked out of the window, watched for a moment the flight of the swallows, who were chasing up and down before the walls.  
They flew very low; just above the ground and between the motionless branches of the trees.  
The air was thick and muggy.  
The whole castle seemed to be in some kind of deep sleep, nothing moved, nowhere were people to be seen, only the crickets and cicadas could be heard.  
It was way too stuffy in the room, but she had been unable to bring herself to put on something more "befitting" and go to the hall or the garden on the north side.  
Instead she sat in a sleeveless undergarment on the windowsill and stared at the horizon, hoping to discover a cloud somewhere.  
Nothing.  
Just bright blue.  
The sun continued to burn down mercilessly and brought the air over the stones of the terrace to flicker.  
She sighed, got up and padded across the stone tiles to her dresser and looked in the mirror above it.  
Her hair stuck to her forehead and beads of sweat glistened on her upper lip.  
Her eyes looked small and tired.  
...  
The scar stood out dark against the tanned skin and she had to get her act together in order to not permanently touch it.  
Arya knew she would be paler with time, less visible.  
But still there.  
She had already heard how some of the maids had called her “Ms. Scarface”  
The girl let out a humorless snort.  
Everyone should decide for themselves whether this was an improvement towards "Arya horse face".  
She looked again in the mirror, but without seeing something.  
Two weeks passed since she was sleeping in her own room again and she could not name exactly what she had expected to happen after that night, but...  
But at least something.  
Instead, the whole city seemed under the oppressive heat in a kind of deep sleep.  
At least if regarded superficially.  
Below that, it looked like a wasp's nest on fire; Rumors and speculation flew back and forth, propagating via the servants and maids, and came on one way or another also to the ears of the high and mighty, naturally also not remaining silent.  
The assassin had not yet been taken and one argued both on his goal, as well as about his actual quest givers.  
The king had been standing a few meters away from the hand, he would surely have been much more rewarding, or not?  
No, one does see this completely wrong, said others, what one think, who in the Council had the real power?  
It was agreed that anyone who harbored resentment against the Lannisters for any reason, as a client came into question.  
What made about half of the lords at the court and the entire north to potential traitors to the crown.  
Geoffrey had announced that, if the man should be found, he and his family could not expect grace under any circumstances and that he would personally impale their heads over the castle gate.  
She had been fortunately not forced to see Ramsay and his father, and wondered if a well-known Lord had had perhaps his hand in it.  
However, she had not seen this certain lord ever since that night.  
And it gnawed on her.  
Arya was no longer a child. She knew how things were running between men and women and had no illusions about what would happen if she had to marry Ramsay.  
And as much as she tried to consider everything that had happened in the hospital room cool and rational, she did not succeed.  
Did Tywin liked her?  
Did he found her… pretty?  
... Desirable?  
She buried her face in her hands. What was she thinking? Had she gone mad?  
The girl exhaled slowly, trying to clear her head.  
So...  
Why should Tywin Lannister want to form an alliance with her?  
Sure she had saved his life through fortunate circumstances, but he was not a man to let himself be influenced by such a thing that quickly. He knew the emptiness behind the concept of honor.  
To do up for that, he also may thank her otherwise.  
With a large dowry, for example.  
Arya snorted.  
What was she for the man?  
An amusing pastime?  
She thought of the lines that he had written in her book.  
_What is a weapon?_  
Everything.  
Was she a weapon? Something that he manipulated like a puppet?  
She had caught a glimpse at another side of the Lord, a side that he never presented to the court but kept hidden.  
He was known as a ruthless, cold-blooded man. A tactician who put his family before everything, a ruler.  
What she saw, had been no less harsh, but ... vulnerable.  
Yes, vulnerable was the right word, like a wounded beast that roars fearful to keep the enemies at bay.  
She had driven him into a corner.  
And the kiss he had given her at the end, had been nothing more than a desperate attempt to win back the upper hand.  
Arya smiled narrow, her gaze fixed on the window.  
A knock on the door tore her out of her thoughts.  
She got up and opened it to see a servant standing before her. The sweat was pouring over the poor mans face and he shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Lady Stark, the Hand asks you to dine with him tonight."  
"Alright." She nodded. "When are tables set in the great hall?"  
The servant shook his head. "Not in the great hall. In the Tower of the Hand. Lord Lannister awaits you at eight." He bowed, and walked away.  
The girl blinked in confusion, starring after him. Then she slowly closed the door again.  
Well, that was interesting.  
If not to say terrifying.  
Mostly terrifying, if she was honest.  
She dropped down on her bed and starred at the ceiling for a few seconds, before she sat up again. A thought crept his way into her mind and she quickly made her way through the chamber to her wardrobe and opened it.  
With the creak of the wooden doors, a girl appeared beside her and Arya sighed.  
_“Really? That son of a bitch is asking you to eat dinner with him and you thinking about…”_ her younger self shuddered _“…what to wear?”_  
The older Arya shrugged her shoulders. “Obviously.” She felt the disgust and burning anger in the gaze of the other girl, in her gaze. She knew what kind of people she would have eyed with this look back then. Even without younger Arya saying it.  
_“We…We vowed to take revenge.”_ The girl’s voice was trembling with hate. _“Have you forgotten, what they´ve done to our family? To father?”_ She paused. _“…To Sansa?”_  
Older Arya stopped searching in the cupboard and turned around slowly. “No.” She sounded flat, toneless. “Never.” The two versions of one girl looked at each other, waiting for the other one to say something. The Older was the one to break the silence.  
“But have you ever thought about how incredible weak we are? Like really? Spitting and cursing and trying to slice open people’s throats by jumping at them…” She shook her head. “I am no longer you. I`ve come to realize, that there is more than black and white and…and that there are limits to what we can endure and that there are people…” She clenched her fists, her voice raised. “…we can´t beat! We are weak! And that won’t change!” Arya breathed heavily, looking for a reaction in her younger face. Nothing. She sighed again. “Look. I´m trying to get more power. Influence, connections, that is what we need, if we want to survive. Survive, I said, yes! Because I don´t want to revenge somebody or something. I…I only want to live in peace. I want to return to Winterfell, if possible and there I want to hide forever.”  
_“And there for you bow?”_ The younger Arya still looked at her, face expressionless.  
“Yes, there for I bow.”  
The little girl said nothing more and kept starring her right into the eyes while her body was slowly fading away.  
Then she disappeared completely.  
Arya slumped powerless against the cupboard and remained there until her maid found her.


	10. Chapter 10

The Lord of Casterly Rock paced up and down before the high windows of his dining room, impatient, lost in gloomy thoughts and bad tempered, making not only his servants but himself more and more nervous.  
It was already dawning outside but a huge amount of candles illuminated the festive table only set for two persons. A servant with a jar on a serving tray stood near by the velvet curtain that separated the room from his office. The poor man was shaking, visibly frightened by the negative waves rolling over from the direction of his master. Lord Tywin was known for his hard punishments against servants who failed him in any way. The shaking produced an annoying metallic rattling as the jar slid around on the tray, incredible loud in the nearly silent room.  
After a few more seconds the Lord exploded. “Good gracious, Tam! Would you put that darn thing down or else I will have your head removed!” He did not even turned around but the servant winced and hastily did as he was told, close to tears and, after that, hid his shaking hands behind his back.  
Tywin stopped himself from groaning angrily and placed his hands on the still warm stone of the balustrade, head falling back and slowly breathing in the evening air.  
 _Patience.  
Control.  
Regain it!_  
The tree before the window, now barely recognizable, rustled slightly in a soft breeze and he massaged his shoulder, staring out into the darkness.  
The wound still stung if he touched it directly and his arm prickled unpleasantly. Yesterday he had been able to hold a sword again for the first time after the failed assassination.   
Well…”Hold”…   
Not fight.   
He embarrassed himself in the training court in front of almost every knight in the castle by crying out in pain as he tried to block a high blow from a young one who were his sparring partner. The sword felt from his numb fingers and the sharp sting in his shoulders nearly brought him to his knees. The knight, merely a boy, was at his side in an instant, a horrified expression on his smooth face. He was sweating, like they all were in the enormous heat. “My Lord! Are you well?” He slapped the offered hand away. “Don`t touch me!” he had managed to get out between gritted teeth and, after a few seconds, slowly had rose again. As he looked around, sword in left hand, the whole court was staring at him in surprised silence. He cleared his throat and drew himself up to his full height before pointing his blade in the direction of the young knight. “May we go on, Ser Bart? All the faster you are dismissed.”  
The boy could have disarmed him any second.  
He was not even going at half strength; purposely missing Tywin and taking a few of the man´s weak blows without even blinking.  
It was mortifying.  
And in the end he did not even breathed heavily while Tywin nearly collapsed again.  
The lord clenched his fists in frustration at the memory.  
At least Jaime had not been there to witness his public defeat.  
He tried to ban the gnawing thoughts from his head to concentrate on a more urgent matter.  
The girl.  
And the problems she seemed to attract.  
He did not know how to think about the whole matter. Clearly, she lately did take up to much space in his daily schedule.  
Tywin liked it, when everything went according to his plans; they were mostly well reasoned and provident…if not to say _brilliant._  
But the girl lately had developed the habit of rushing in, confusing every well-thought detail and rushing out again.  
…And not only his plans but his mind.  
Tywin slowly walked to the table and grabbed one of the cups.  
He simply did not knew how to handle her.  
Her actions seemed unreasonable, impulsive and never directed towards a certain goal.  
She saved him and afterwards told him straightforward how much she despised him.  
She kissed him.  
…Or rather, he kissed her, hallucinating and delirious.  
He had mistaken her for Joanna, something he would never forgive himself.  
Thinking back, he could not tell whether she has had blond hair or brown or if her eyes were green or grey; feverish imagination and reality were mixing and he could no longer tell apart between the two women.  
The girl and his late wife had become on memory with toned, rather boyish figure, hot breath and soft, indulgent lips on his own.  
A memory he would gladly burn out of his head, if possible.  
A memory that let him wake up fighting for air.  
He grabbed his goblet harder and shifted uncomfortable, not allowing his thoughts to wander further in this direction.  
The whole situation left him…upset and clueless; both were feelings the Lord were not used to in any way, which made it even worse.  
In this moment, the door to the room opened and a servant carefully looked through the door frame, as if he feared to get yelled at in an instant. “Lady Arya Stark is here, Lord Hand.”  
He put the cup back on the table and straightened himself. “She may come in.” The door opened a little further and the girl entered the room, glance lowered to the floor.  
She curtsied and remained waiting as the door closed again with a thud. Her hair was neatly braided and hung over her left shoulder and she wore a light blue gown with long sleeves and silver lacings at the back.  
“Lady Stark, what a pleasure.” He nodded politely in her direction, walked around the table and pulled the second chair back. “May I?”  
She crossed the room, head still lowered and sat down on the offered seating. From his point of view behind her back he had a very clear sight down her cleavage, but before his mind could wander back to the night in the sick room, he clenched his left hand into a fist and hit it against his own shoulder where he could still feel the bandages.  
It worked quiet well and exactly as he practised it before.  
The sharp pain erased every improper thought he might had and he barely managed to hold back a grunt, but was satisfied with the outcome. No human distractions this night.  
He had a plan for the evening. A very particular one and he would not allow anyone or anything to ruin it.  
He seated himself and lifted the jar in front of him. “Wine, my Lady?”  
“No, thank you, Lord Hand.” Her voice was quiet.  
He refilled his own cup again and drank, watching her in the process. She seemed nervous and uncomfortable, looking everywhere but his direction.  
“Has Maester Pycelle taken good care of your injury?” He gestured to her cheekbone.  
There was a silent agreement in the air to begin with something easy and harmless to talk about before moving on to serious things.  
The girl put her hand on the scar, looking embarrassed. “Oh, not the old Maester, Lord Hand….It…It was a woman named Tarhide. A specialist for poisoned wounds, as she said.”  
Tywin narrowed his eyes and sat his cup back down on the table, suddenly alarmed.  
“...A female Maester?”  
“Yes, strange, isn´t it?” The girl shrugged her shoulders. “I did not get to ask how she managed to get her necklace. I had not recovered enough at that point.”  
“Indeed…” He leaned back in his chair, considering what he heard.  
There were no such things as female Maesters, so much was obvious. Following logical conclusion had to be…  
He jumped up cursing, as a thought hit him, heading to the door. “Where you alone with that woman, girl?”  
She looked scared. “Ye…Yes, my Lord. I…”  
“You have been fooled.”  
He opened the door, ready to bark the command to turn the whole castle upside down in order to find the swindler, but instead looked into the face of Roose Bolton, who was just in the process of trying to get past one of his guards and his son Ramsay behind him.  
The northern lord was obviously furious and his expression hardened as he saw the other man.  
“Lord Lannister!” He freed himself from the grasp of the guard. “Since nearly four weeks I´ve been trying to speak to you! Do you remember our contract, which actually brought me and my son away from our duties?”   
The smaller man came closer to Tywin who was still standing in the door frame, trying to make sense out of the situation. “Lord Bolton, what on earth…?” Inwardly, he cursed. _To early. Wrong place...Damn._  
“So where is the Stark girl?” Roose spotted Arya at the table as he saw through underneath Tywin´s arm into the dining room. His eyes narrowed and he looked back and forth between the two before grunting: “We are no longer interested in a big ceremony. We are taking her back to the north.”  
He and his son came into the room, the door falling shot behind them.  
“Ramsay, take her.”  
The girl opened her mouth to protest and her eyes felt on Tywin in search for help.  
Ramsay grabbed her arm and pulled her up from the chair, although she kicked and screamed and turned to his father again.  
Roose Bolton fixed Tywin. “Our ship is waiting at the docks. I consider your part of the contract as fulfilled, my Lord. But to be honest, I would have thought a Lannister would keep his word.” Tywin opened his mouth, completely taken off his feet by the other man´s bold actions. _That went not according to the plan. Not even the slightest._  
“Are you out of your mind?” he growled in a low voice. “I am the warden of the North and I do not take it kindly if someone tries to fool me…” Roose replied angrily but did not came further because suddenly many things happened very fast.  
First thing was the renewed annoying sound of a certain jar on a serving tray hitting the floor. “Tam!” Tywin spun around, looking furiously for his servant. “I told you to put that damn thing down, for god´s sake!” At first the Lannister thought that the man had simply tripped, spilling the red wine all over his white shirt. If it would have been that way, the young servant would already have been to his feet again, collecting the dropped items and begging for forgiveness but he simply laid there, face down on the few stairs and the red pool around him became gradually larger.  
Next Tywin noticed the dark figure standing above the servant, holding a knife in one hand.  
But before anyone could react to the new circumstances, a quiet noise was hear able from just outside the window.   
The Lannister recognized it as that what it was: The release of a bowstring.   
The next moment, Roose Bolton was stumbling backwards grabbing at his neck and choking on his own blood.   
An arrow had pierced his throat.  
Ramsay shouted in horror and surprise but was clever enough to turn Arya towards the windows and use her as a shield to protect himself from eventual following projectiles.  
Before Tywin could react and make more than one step in the direction of the girl, he felt cold steel on his throat. The dark clothed intruder was standing behind him and turned him with catlike elegance by twisting at his wounded arm to face the windows, the still bloody knife at his skin.  
For a few seconds they all just stood there, panting, waiting for one of the others to make a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m sorry, guys. I know, I promised and if I had a canary, it would be most likely dead by now it´s just... Im not feeling that well in the moment. It´s a familiar thing and very... complicated.  
> Anyway, thank you for waiting.


End file.
